


Right Before His Eyes

by queenallyababwa



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times, Brief Violence, But everyone loves and supports Stanley so its okay, Developing Relationship, Family Secrets, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Protective Siblings, Woo actual canon!era fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenallyababwa/pseuds/queenallyababwa
Summary: The five times someone other than LeFou realized that Stanley was in love with him.And the one time LeFou did.





	Right Before His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GabbyD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabbyD/gifts).



> This fic was written over a course of a weekend and that goes to show you how much I loved this prompt! I loved exploring Stanley's character and the other villagers and how things came to be when you saw them on screen in the movie. Because that's what I do best - developing background characters with little to no dialogue!! Also, I tried to be a little more canonically accurate than some of my other fics - believe me, my google search history is like "Did they have strawberries in 1740s France?" and "Were cigarettes a thing in 18th century Europe?"
> 
> Musically for some reason, the score of the movie "The Color Purple" inspired me for several moments of this - particularly the piece "Nettie Teaches Celie" for Part 3 of this piece. Who knew a movie about 20th century US Southern life could help inspire a work on 18th century French countryside? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it.

I.

The parade to celebrate the war heros of Villevenue in the long conflict against nations across the sea and over the Alps was a grand affair. Children had off of school, stores hung ‘closed’ signs in their windows and locked their doors, and in the town square it seemed like every man, woman, and child had shown up to welcome home their veterans and honor those who had fallen.

Monsieur Stanley Bernard - the old haberdasher and milliner - had served his time in the military years ago when France was pitted into another conflict. He had always told his own collection of wartime stories when his had been a boy. But he hadn’t lived through this conflict - taken by an awful influenza that past winter - and wasn’t there to welcome the young men home, buy them a beer at the tavern and exchange tales of the front lines. Those he left behind - his widow, Fleur, triplet daughters Paulette, Claudette, and Laurette, and a son named after him - were still determined to honor his memory and attend the parade.

And so Fleur lead her four children down towards the town square, her husband’s war medals pinned to her clock, proud of what he had accomplished. Stanley Junior took up the rear of the assembled group, keeping an eye on his three sisters. Though they were women now, they got distracted easily with their gossipy nature and he had to make sure they didn’t wander off to talk to one of their friends - for maman’s sake on this difficult day.

And of course, distractions were a-plenty today, with the the festival being held in conjunction with the parade. Vendors everywhere were selling their wares, the air fragrant with food being cooked in outdoor stalls. 

“Oh, Madame Moreanu made her cider!” Stanley heard his sister Laurette exclaim brightly as they passed the old woman stand in front a wall of glistening amber jugs in a small vendor's stall. Outside the stall was Monsieur Moreanu, stroking a small fire that heated a enormous cauldron of his wife’s famous apple brew. 

“Anything for the troops,” Paulette said. 

“Do you think we can stop and grab a mug?” Laurette asks, and Stanley could see her shuddering into her cape as she said these words. “It’s the perfect day for a warm drink. Besides, if we wait much longer, it will be all gone.”

Stanley laughed, and Laurette turned and smiled at him as he caught up with the trio. 

“She must have every single jug she made last autumn with her,” Claudette said, wisely. “I’m sure they won’t run out during the parade.”

“And maybe we can get a handsome soldier to buy us some,” Paulette’s voice was a near whisper, but it caused all three Bernard girls to giggle at the thought. The soldiers had been gone for years now - boys not much older than them had enlisted gangly and awkward and were now returning bristling and strong men. 

“Only if we can get Stanley a girl to share a mug with.” Laurette gently shoved Stanley’s shoulder, grabbing his attention.

“Me?” He chuckled, not believing the thought that his sisters wanted to set him up on a date. 

“Yes, you! It’s a holiday and you deserve to share it with a pretty lady!” Laurette assured him. “I’m making it my mission to find someone who wants to drink with you.”

“Oh, you know how I am with girls,” Stanley began awkwardly, because it was the truth. Handsome and as wealthy as he was, the young women of the village were tumbling over him. But every time he tried to talk to one of them, something always ended up happening. He spilled his drink over himself or the lady, he stumbled over his words, he said something embarrassing. 

(He was always setting himself up for disaster.)

“And I can’t imagine why!” Claudette said. “You’re a catch, Stan. And I’m not saying that because I’m your sister and I’m just trying to boost your confidence.”

“Thanks for that,” Stanley deadpanned. The Bernard children laughed together and Laurette leaned in and hugged him.

“ _ Mes enfants _ !” Maman called over the crowd to grab their attention, a vision of pink and tan in the crowd of dark cloaks. “The parade is starting!”

The quartet of siblings rushed to their mother’s side, the sounds of snare drums and penny whistles over the shouting, laughing, singing of the crowd assembled to welcome home the soldiers with fanfare. Flags waved, banners billowed in the early-spring wind as the street cleared to make way for the battalion. 

And heading it, of course, was the noble Captain Gaston. The fighting had ended only weeks ago, but everyone in the village was very familiar with the stories of his heroism. Through letters and news that had managed to reach their little town tucked into the hills, he had won the admiration of everyone in Villeneuve. Children were already re-enacting some of the battles as they had been described and many-a-squalor broke out among little boys in the towns square about who got to be the town’s victor. 

Often times, the legends and myths don’t quite hold up to the actual person. But  Gaston rode victoriously into the village square, mounted on top of one of the most handsome black stallions that Stanley had ever seen, and looked very bit the hero he had been described as. He was practically posed for his commemorative statue to grace the town square in which he rode, but what a man of marble he already was! Long dark hair tied perfectly up, a handsome, chiseled chin, strong muscles bristling underneath his military dress uniform. 

Wild applause erupted - mostly from Stanley’s sisters who were in near hysterics seeing this paragon - for the brave Captain. And Stanley clapped as well, but then he was struck.

In the shadows of the radiance that Gaston created atop the horse, a man on a much less majestic creature rode. Compared to the Captain’s stallion, the stout brown and white pony he trotted on gave a much more homely impression. And sure, the rider wasn’t quite deserving of any of the adjectives to describe the dashing Gaston, but as Stanley watched him pass, he felt something stir inside him.

And when the man - a break from the stoic military tradition - looked out of the corner of his eye (most likely to glance at the screaming triplets fawning over his captain) and then smirked, Stanley felt something that wasn’t there before.

II.

Stanley had seen the man around town for the past two weeks, emerging from the butcher shop with several paper-wrapped packages, studying the vegetables at the market, stepping into the tavern for the night.  But he had never talked to him. Mostly because the man was attached to Captain Gaston’s hip and was almost always surrounded by an entourage of people commending both men for their invaluable service to their village.

But even when Stanley got closer, he realized he could  _ never  _ talk to him.How could he, when his mind went reeling every time he saw him? When he laid in bed, tossing and turning when his mind would go back to the beautiful man on horseback? 

At first, he refused to acknowledge his feelings. Was this - was this what a crush felt like? Was this was it was like when his sisters were giddy about boys? He had never felt like this before - well, at least about the lasses he had courted. But those late nights questioning himself turned to revelations. Revelations about those girls before, about how he was constantly setting himself up for sabotage so those dates never went well and the girls rejected him - all because he wanted to be rejected. And he wanted something different.

He did his best to keep his blossoming adoration for mystery man underwraps. His sisters, of course, had been fawning over Captain Gaston from the moment the saw him and were always trying to get some sort of gossip from the women of the village who frequented the haberdashery - much to the chagrin of Stanley and his Maman. 

As she pulled a several spools of  different shades of blood-red thread from the display case to show to a customer, Laurette sighed, “I think this color matches Captain Gaston’s coat! You, know the one he wore during the parade last week! Oh, wasn’t that a wonderful festival. You know, I heard that once, Captain Gaston -”

“ _ Laurette Eloise _ ,” Maman said warningly from where she worked in her corner, stitching a white bonnet. Her glances could shut anyone up, and instantly Laurette stood taller and asked the customer, “What sort of project are you think of using this for?”

After the woman had left the shop, Laurette ducked behind the desk where Stanley was working on organizing order forms. 

“Wonder why Maman is so irritable when we mention Gaston.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because that’s the eleventh time you’ve brought him up to a customer and it’s not even noon yet?” Stanley said, reviewing Madame Fabre’s order for a new bonnet to wear for Easter Mass and putting it in the according pile.

Laurette leaned against the counter and huffed, knowing it was the truth. “But he’s so handsome! I can’t get him out of my head, Stanley!” She stretched a dent in the varnish of the wooden desk. “You wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

_ He did _ .

Maman rose from her chair and walked over to the counter to observe what Stanley was doing. But she had another motive, “Laurette, do you think that you could give Paulette  a hand in the back, organizing the new bolts of fabric? Give Claudette a break. ”

Laurette stood up. “But Maman, I’ve been good with sales -”

“Not when you babble on like that,” Maman said.

Laurette huffed again and disappeared behind the curtain that separated the shop from the back storage room. 

Stanley spoke up, “It wasn’t  _ that  _ bad, Maman. It as better than the way Paulette was going on about him last night at dinner.”

“Still, one can only hear the praises of our dear Captain Gaston so much,” Maman lamented. She reached forward, grabbed his chin and kissed his cheek. “Do me a favor and never fall in love,  _ cher enfant _ .”

Laughing at her little joke, Stanley didn’t even notice that the bell above the door tinkled, signalling a customer. Maman turned to greet them, exclaiming, “Monsieur LeFou! How wonderful to see you again!”

And there he was.

Stanley got his first true look at the man who was now  _ right in front of him _ . His full lips, his gap-tooth smile, his dark brown eyes and wild curls were on full display, not obscured by horseback or bright sunlight. And at once, Stanley was smitten and had to look down at his work, but he still couldn’t help watching. 

Maman was a very friendly woman and she instantly took to hugging the man, kissing both of his cheeks in a greeting. “It is so good to have you home safe and sound, Étienne.”

“Well, it’s good to be home,” the man said with a sigh. “I was coming by just to place an order for some notions before heading back to the shop.”

“Are you back to working Monsieur Roux? Surely a job as the Captain’s first man would have had you set for life,” Maman said. Although the shop dabbled into a few alterations for women, it was really Monsieur Roux’s shop that did much of the sewing for men.

“But what would I fill my days with?” Monsieur LeFou countered. “Besides, I missed mending something that wasn’t a khaki uniform.”

“Of course.” Maman nodded and then looked over to the table. “Stanley, can you help Monsieur LeFou here with his order?”

Stanley was completely taken back by his mother’s order and that  _ LeFou was looking right at him with a warm smile _ .

(It was there that Stanley realized that he was missing a tooth on one side; he found it just so endearing.)

“-Sure!” Oh god, he sounded so flustered that he had to straighten himself, tugging at his waistcoat. 

He busied himself as LeFou approached the counter and pulled out a slip of parchment from the writing desk and dipped his ink pen into the well. 

“What can I help you with, Monsieur?”

As LeFou remembered perfectly from memory exactly what the tailor shop needed - how could he do it without a list to guide him? - Stanley jotted everything down on the order form. He’d look up time to time and look at LeFou, study him. The way he bit his lip as he listed the items. The way his sideburns clung to his cheeks. The way a tightly wound curl had escaped his ponytail and sprung forward onto his forehead.

He was so focused on Monsieur LeFou that he hardly noticed that Claudette had emerged from the back room with a box of buttons to sort and stock the drawers with. And when the door shuttered closed behind the LeFou, Stanley was still wrapped up into studying the paper with a soft smile, he didn’t realize that she was right behind him until she said, “You okay, Stanley?”

“Fine!” He said, snapping up and tucking the order form back into the desk. “Just, ah -” He shook his head. “Just remembered a joke someone told me last week!”

He looked to Claudette who had a knowing smirk as she busied herself at one of the shelves behind the counter. Claudette was a sharp one; even if she had shown no interests in the books that Maman had laying around the family home, she had proven herself to be exceptionally smart and good at picking things up. 

She grabbed his arms and leaned in, “We’re siblings. You have the same love-sick face as our sisters.”

III.

“ _ Stanley has a crush! Stanley has a crush! _ ”

The first day in at least week where the evening was sunny enough to hang laundry on the clothes line until the sun set. The three sisters had set out to remove the wash from the line just as Stanley emerged from the barn, tending to the family’s horses and he could hear their joyful singing from the stable.

“ _ Claudette _ ,” he cried, marching down the lawn to where his sisters stood around sheets that billowed like a ship’s mast and skirts and petifores that waved like great multi-colored flags. He pushed the sheet aside and found the three of them giggling. “ _ It was supposed to be a secret _ !”

Claudette looked sincerely apologetic. “You know how these two are! They forced me to tell what was bothering you.”

“We’ve noticed how aloof you’ve been,” Laurette told him. 

“It’s not very like you,” Paulette added. “Daydreaming all the time. That’s more Laurette’s thing.”

Laurette reached forward to shove her sister, but Claudette intervened. “What they mean to say is that they were concerned about you and I had to spill because they were truly, genuinely worried about you.”

Stanley sighed. His sisters were hardly trustworthy with each other about such schoolyard gossip.

“Don’t worry, though, we won’t be telling Monsieur LeFou anything when we see Gaston,” sang Laurette.

And that was the moment that struck Stanley to his core. He was so uncertain how to feel that all three of his sisters knew. They knew he was enamoured with a man. Rage swept over him towards Claudette for even mentioning anything about this whole situation. But then he realized that they knew. And they accepted it.

Taking a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts, he choked out a, “You’re fine -”

“Well, honestly, I don’t see much of the appeal of LeFou when compared to Captain Gaston,” Laurette interjected. Claudette squeezed her shoulder, assuring her that this wasn’t the time or subject to be making jokes with and Laurette bit her lip.

“We all still love you dearly, Stanley,” Claudette assured him. “Even if Monsieur LeFou may never return your affectionate . . . “

Stanley didn’t have the heart to tell his sisters that he really didn’t see Captain Gaston returning their affections in the near future, either. But that day in the billowing sheets, the clear smell of spring through the breeze, the cornflowers shuddering as they walked by, they all were in the same boat - four children over their heads in love.

IX.

Summer ripened and wilted into fall since that first admission and things had changed yet stayed so inconsequently the same in Villeneuve. After a while, Captain Gaston and Monsieur LeFou were just Gaston and LeFou to most people; still adored, still idolized, but they were not quite treated as they were when the came home from war. They - more so Gaston than LeFou - were demi-gods now , not completely ethereal beings. 

And still, Stanley and his sisters viewed them as such. 

With each passing month, Gaston seemed to grow wearier with his bachelorhood and Claudette, Laurette, and Paulette grew more infatuated as the man searched for women to court. The adorned themselves with trinkets and the latest fashions, hoping the catch his eye. But no so luck, for Gaston only chuckled at their girlish behavior.

Even with the outright rejection of the idol, the triplets wanted to go to the tavern every night to try and be nearer to Gaston. And naturally, Stanley had to go with them at the request of their mother to be their chaperone.

Stanley wasn’t entirely happy that his sisters wanted to drag him to the tavern all the time, but he soon discover that he actually had a lot more fun than they ever could at the bar. And all of that fun was thanks to Richard Vincent and Thomas Dupont - Dick and Tom as they were known around town. They were much older men than Stanley was by about a decade; they both had wives and kids but every other night they’d manage to slip away for a few hours to play cards with some other guys in the tavern. Apparently, they had also served in the military during the same conflict that Stanley’s father was involved in.

“So you’re old Stan Bernard’s kid,” Tom laughed - it always seemed like he was amused by something -  as he smoked his pipe when Stan sat down at a table with the two men one night. 

“Yes, sir,” Stanley said, nodding.

“Little Norbert is all grown up,” Dick laughed, remembering the brief time that Stanley had been called by his middle name. 

“Your old man used to be quite the regular here too,” Tom said, setting down the pipe into the silver ashtray . His work-worn hands picked up the deck and tumbled through them before shuffling.“Wicked hand at poker, that man. You play?”

“A bit,” Stanley confessed. “Papa didn’t play that much with me, but he did teach me when I was a kid.”

“Well then, let’s see what you got.” Dick ordered another round of beer for the table and the card game started. 

In the end, Stanley had his ass handed to him by the two older men.

“But you have potential to be like your father,” Dick noted as he collected the cards and shuffled them again before stuffing them into the water-logged pack. “We can teach you.”

Was it pity that Stanley was so young and lacked a father figure? Was it keeping alive the memory of Monsieur Stanley Bernard, the ace card player? Young Stanley wasn’t quite sure. Whatever the reason, Tom and Dick took a liking towards him and soon he became such an integrated part of their day to day lives. 

Perhaps it was a little odd to have friends so much older than him, but Stanley really enjoyed the company of Tom and Dick. He loved Dick’s deadpan and dry humor. The way he looked out for his daughters - Adelaide, Valare, and Noelle - reminded Stanley of the way that his father had been so protective of the triplets. Tom’s stories were less sardornic than Dick’s, but he always could think of a way to make something seem better than it was. His laughter always resonated through the bar, warm and genuine. And his love for his wife, Colette, never seemed to fade with their many years of marriage.

As the subject of domesticity was brought up so often by Tom and Dick, they often asked Stanley about if he was ever planning on settling down. They said a lot of the things his sisters used to say before they had found out the truth. They brought up eligible girls from around town. But every time, Stanley would insist that he wasn’t quite ready for a courtship, being the only man in the Bernard house.

“You know how much Fleur would love a grandchild about now,” Dick told him as they walked up to the bar. But then Stanley told him to lay off it.

In time, they learned to not bring the subject up with Stanley and not to question why the thought of buying a lady a drink made him so uncomfortable. 

But, just like the triplets, they soon found out why.

One of the perks of going to the bar almost every night was the fact that he saw LeFou nearly every day. Although the war had been years ago now, he was still very much Gaston’s right-hand man. He had a special spot in the tavern - a small stool next to Gaston’s own richly decorated chair by the fireplace. And with the way that the stool was set, it often looked like LeFou was practically sitting on the edge of Gaston’s chair, tending to his every whim.

Every time Stanley dared to look over to the fireplace, he felt . . .  angry? Yes, angry. Angry that Gaston took all of LeFou’s time, angry that he never really had the courage inside him to even approach the other man if he had ever had a moment when he was attached to Gaston’s hip. 

But even with those moments of frustration, try as he might, Stanley couldn’t stop himself from every now and again looking at LeFou, especially when the man would make a spectacle of himself, larking folk songs and dancing around the taverns. In the firelight glow, his wild curls removed from his usual neat ponytail, dressed in a rich wine-colored waistcoat that clung to his rounded hips and trousers that accentuated his soft thighs, he was a vision to behold.

That night, he must have been staring too intently, because he could feel the heat of Tom’s eyes shift from LeFou to Stanley and then back again. 

When Stanley left to take a piss after LeFou finished his song, Tom said he needed to go as well. As they both got up from the table and headed for the back alleyway where most men went to relieve themselves, Stanley could feel his heart palpitating wildly, his hands growing clammy. Tom weighed much more than Stanley did and could probably wrestle him to the ground  . . . if only Stanley hadn’t left his sword back inside at the table. He clenched his fists together for a fight and when Tom grabbed his shoulders he turned around and hit him straight in the gut.

Tom fell against the wall, spitting out a stream of obscenities, taking deep breaths. Although he had defended himself, Stanley couldn’t stop his shaking, fear and abhorrence about what he had just done still trickling through his veins.

One Tom composed himself he exclaimed, “ _ Putain,  _ Stanley! What the hell was that for?”

“You . . . you were going to attack me, right?” Stanley stuttered. 

“No!  _ Nom de Dieu!  _ I wasn’t going to attack you! I wanted to talk to you!” 

“Talk . . . ” Stanley breathed. “Oh God, Tom, I am so sorry.”

Tom huffed. “It’s fine, I shouldn’t have approached you like this. I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Stanley joined Tom against the wall. 

When Tom’s breathing settled, he broke the silence with, “I know why you don’t want to court a woman.”

Stanley held his breath. “You do?”

“My cousin -” Tom began. “He- he was just like you. His father was kinder than most about it by sending him to join a monastery.” He shook his head. “Are you okay at home?”

“My sisters know,” Stanley answered. “They don’t care for LeFou, but they’re accepting of who I am. But my mother doesn’t quite know yet - she’s been so busy with things since my father died she doesn’t seem like she cared too much about my romantic life since the longer I stay single, the longer I get to help her run the shop and not be distracted by a wife and children.”

Tom nodded and then reached for Stanley’s shoulder, leaning against it for support. He looked over his shoulder to the younger man. “I support you, Stan. I will protect you from anyone who speaks out against you. Your father did so much for me when I was your age - it would be a mortal sin to not do the same for you.”

Stanley felt tears sting his eyes as he nodded. “Thank you, Tom.”

The two men stood in silence again against the tavern wall, the gaiety of the night leaking out through the doors.

“So . . . LeFou, huh?” Tom started again. “When did that happen?”

“A while back, actually,” Stanley answered. “Around the same time my sisters first started mooning over Gaston.”

Tom gave a low whistle. “That seems like an eternity. You have subtlety compared to them., I give you that.”

X.

For years, life in their small village had been so quiet, so orderly. But a series of strange events began to unfold with the Maurice the artist’s daughter that seemed to have awoken everyone from a deep sleep as they rallied together to protect the town against a mysterious beast under the order of Gaston, who, after years of retirement, was glad to take full command. 

When they arrived at the mysterious castle in the woods that somehow everyone forgotten about, there were murmurs of familiarity. Stanley himself had believe that he had seen this place, too. Once, perhaps, in a dream of white fabric and gold trim. And he had certainly heard that voice before, that voice of the mysterious wardrobe who showered them in silk and bows and powdered wigs, laughing, singing with him. . .

Everything came into clarity as dawn broke and lovely gown Stanley had been dressed in vanished with the snow on the ground. He  _ had _ been here before. He  _ had _ heard that voice before. His father used to sell wares to the army of seamtresses working behind the royal celebrations and he would let Stanley come along, if he behaved. The one seamstress - the who knew his identity and had dressed him up - would let him sit on her lap as she sang arias and stitched. Her husband - the castle’s musician - liked to sneak him candy when Papa wasn’t looking.

On the castle steps, he hugged them both as all those old happy memories flooded over him. Everyone in town had gone on for so long with an empty piece inside of him for years and now in the bright sun, it seemed like they all had finally reached their peace with that part of their lives. 

Everyone except for LeFou.

Gaston had been the only casualty in the battle on the castle, having plummeted to his death from the castle. Stanley was shocked to hear the news - the infallible hero was  _ dead and gone _ . For days afterwards, he went around feeling numb, but he had to say strong for his family. The triplets were a wreck for a long time afterwards. For days, they stayed in bed and in their nightgowns, hair now no longer coiffed and curled, eyes rimmed red. And seeing her usually bright and cheerful daughters so distraught didn’t help Maman in the slightest. Stanley had to comfort her as well as she felt like there was nothing she could possibly do to ease their pain.

LeFou was harder to keep an eye on, since he lived alone in a small cottage and had no blood relatives left in all of Villeneuve. But Tom, Dick, Colette, and Vera had definitely stepped up to helping him through this dark time, bringing him dinner and helping tend to his garden and be there to talk to him.

In the wake of Gaston’s death, Stanley realized he had to get over his crush and reach out to LeFou. At least once a day, he stopped by just to talk see how he was doing. And once they had started talking, it seemed like they could never stop.

As the weeks wore on and LeFou started to rouse from his fog, he invited Stanley over for dinner. It was nearly July and the berries on the bush in the backyard were just starting to ripen. Wanting to bring a surprise along for LeFou, Stanley took a basket from the kitchen to pick some and walked across the lawn where he found Maman stitching a small sampler.

She very rarely sewed for herself anymore, when she had so many other things to work on for the shop, but with the income from the castle now returned, she didn’t have to work as hard on alterations to make ends meet for the family. Spread across her lap was a linen cloth that she was embroidering blushing red roses along the border; Stanley had forgot about how amazing her embroidery skills had been. 

“Stanley!” She exclaimed as she saw him approach. “What are you doing?”

“Picking some berries for Monsieur LeFou,” he told her, truthfully. “He’s invited me to join him for supper.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. I’m sure he’d love the surprise,” Maman said, setting down her stitching. She looked melancholy, pensive as she looked up her son. “You’ve been spending a good deal of time with him lately.”

“He did just lose a dear friend,” Stanley reminded her. “I’m trying to ease his pain.”

Maman mmed, nodding. She extended her hand hand and Stanley took it. She traced his knuckles, her thumb gently rubbing over the soft skin of the tops of his young hand, a very different texture from her own. “When you were little, I knew you different from the other children. You were  _ mon beau garçon _ . So helpful, so sweet; it meant the world to me after the triplets were born. Any other child would have lashed out from being the only child to one of four. But you liked to rock them and make them little dolls out of scrap fabric. You’ve always been a wonderful caretaker, Stanley, and Étienne is lucky to have you.”

She squeezed his hand, reassuringly. Her words were vague but Stanley got everything he needed from her touch. 

“I am so proud to call you my son,” she said. “No matter what other may think, I love you more than anything.”

For emphasis, she leaned in and kissed his hand before the changed the subject.  “Now! While you’re over at Monsieur LeFou’s house, be sure to make sure he’s attending Prince Adam and Mademoiselle Belle’s celebration ball next week. I’m already planning on making something special for the occasion just for him and we don’t want all that fabric to go to waste, now do we?”  
I.

The celebration ball at the castle was something Stanley could have only dreamt about for he was certain that  _ this  _ was what heaven looked like; it seemed like the entire place was drenched in white and gold, adorned with some of the largest and ornate flowers Stanley had ever seen, bright sunlight flooding the entire place, the ballroom was brimming with familiar faces all dressed near identically - the women  in gowns and headdresses Maman had designed, the men in gold and red trimmed waistcoats.

It was such a fantastical blur that Stanley worried that he would forget the moves to the intricate dances, but Laurette - perhaps the most coordinate of the three sisters - was there to guide him if he fell out of step. 

(He had to pray for poor Tom, who was surely getting his toes stepped upon by Paulette after he asked her to dance with him.)

As they twirled to Madame de Garderobe’s aria floating above the great hall, Laurette whipped her head over to the next couple.

“LeFou’s dancing right next to us,” she whispered to him as he pulled her closer to spin them around.

“Yes?” Stanley said as he extended his arm and Laurette twirled, her white gown billowing with her gentle steps. “And?”

“Get ready to dance with him right -” Laurette took the lead just as they were supposed to switch partnered pushed Stanley towards LeFou. “Now!”

Stanley swooped into where the previous woman had danced, right in LeFou’s arms. Confused by the whole thing, LeFou looked surprised to find that his arms were not filled by the soft form of a woman but rather Stanley. But still, he clung to him as they rotated - completely out of step by what the dance had dictated - and eased up, cocking his head to the side and smiling softly as he realized there was something there that wasn’t there before.


End file.
